


Fire on the Mountain, run boys run

by xylaria



Category: Devil Went Down to Georgia (Song)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylaria/pseuds/xylaria
Summary: The Devil has a long history of challenging musicians for their souls. Johnny is just one in a long line.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenlily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenlily/gifts).



The first time the Devil played against a musician for their soul was in a small tavern in Transylvania in 1428, though at that time it was not actually a soul outright at stake. The Devil had been wandering the countryside sowing low level discord that, given a few years and a little watering, would hopefully result in a nice little war. It had actually been taking a break, minding its own business in a local tavern, when a cocky young musician had spotted the recorder in its bag (carefully worded songs with catchy tunes were a great way to stir up the masses, the Devil had become quite proficient at multiple instruments over the years).

"That's a mighty fine looking instrument you have there." The lad was cocky and well dressed, especially for this area, and, the Devil scanned him briefly, with a soul ripe for corruption.

The Devil turned slowly around, allowing Its true nature to show in its eyes. It hated contested souls, much better to wait a few years for this one than loose it on a technicality. "It's the Devil's instrument," the Devil said. The youth looked momentarily startled, then laughed it off.

"I could outplay the Devil himself with an instrument like that."

The Devil raised its eyebrows. "Really? And what would you give the Devil if you could not play up to standards?"

The boy swallowed, starting to look slightly nervous. The Devil did not press, prizes given freely were much more valuable than prizes coerced. The guilt alone tended to recoup any loss on the initial prize by several fold. After a moment where the Devil could feel the boy weighing the chances that it was really the Devil against his own inflated adolescent confidence, he puffed out his chest and said, "I would bet my audience with the Baron tomorrow that I can outplay you on that recorder, but if I win, I get the recorder." He considered for a moment. "And your coat."

The Devil nodded, it was more than it had hoped for. "It's a deal." It reached out and shook the lad's hand, sealing the bargain in a flash of power. A faint puff of reddish smoke and the smell of sulfur came from their joined hands. The Devil took the opportunity to examine the the boy's soul again.

"Now, who shall judge this contest?" The Devil said, breaking the contact to pull two recorders from its bag. The first, a shiny new one that it normally left visible as a temptation to thieves, it handed to the boy. The second, a hundred years old, expertly crafted and meticulously maintained, but plain, it kept for itself.

The youth stepped up on a stool and shouted to attract the attention of the handful of other patrons in the tavern. "Gather round! I have challenged this gentleman to a contest of skill. We shall each play one tune on the recorder. You shall be the judge of who is the better musician." Most of the patrons went back to their drinks, however a small handful moved to gather around the table where the Devil sat. The boy stepped down from the stool and gestured for the Devil to go first.

Devil surveyed the small crowd, assessing the souls. The boy would play the most elaborate and formal piece he knew, what he had been preparing to play the Baron. However, these were simple men, not used to that kind of music. Several of them had recent pain and hurt in their souls, scars that had not yet healed. To be sure of winning the competition, it would have to play music to heal these men’s souls. There was one that might come to it, given time, maybe two. And the boy of course, would belong to it no matter the outcome. But it was likely to gain much more than the potential for two souls with the access to the Baron the boy offered if it won. The Devil settled on the stool with a shrug and put it’s recorder to its lips. 

The tune started haunting and sad, catching at the wounds on the men’s souls and exposing them, bringing the pain to the surface. The Devil wove in elements of working tunes, sweat, sore muscles, and the feeling of a job well done. The men shifted as their souls began to heal, the tune becoming more uplifting until finally, as the last scraps of their souls were knit back together, it finished with a melody of celebration. 

The men listening stared in awed silence as the last note faded away. The Devil took its bow and turned toward the youth who stared at it, face pale. The Devil smiled. 

...

The first soul the Devil took outright from a musician was in Bavaria in 1875. It was bored, tired of subtly seeding chaos, and behind on its target number of souls for the decade. It had been nearly a hundred years since the Devil had gone head to head with a musician, and so it decided to go for a more direct approach than it had used in the past. While passing through Munich it had seen an advertisement for a beer hall that said the accordion player was “The Best That Ever Was.” Her name was Helga and she played every Friday night.

The next Friday night the Devil entered the beer hall and strode straight to where Helga stood preparing to go on stage with her accordion. It did not bother to hide its nature. However, there was enough hubbub in the hall that apparently even the Devil striding through with a solid gold accordion was not enough to attract much attention. The Devil gathered its skirts and climbed onto one of the tables. “For any musician in this hall, I have a bet!” It shouted, hefting the gold accordion in the air. The hall fell quiet. The Devil scanned the hall, carefully not looking at Helga. "I bet this box of gold against your soul that I am better than you!” 

As it had hoped, that attracted Helga’s attention. She stepped over, then climbed on the table next to the Devil. “My name’s Helga. And though I know it might be a sin, I’ll take your bet, you’re gonna regret, because I’m the best that’s ever been.” She stuck out her hand, and the Devil put down its things and took it. A small puff of red smoke came from between their hands and the smell of sulfur briefly overwhelmed the stench of beer and unwashed men. Helga’s soul was full of pride and ruthless confidence. It would be a good addition to the Devil’s collection and, despite her pride, one that might not come to the Devil without this bargain making it that much more valuable. 

“How shall our competition be judged?" The Devil asked. Helga looked around the crowded beer hall. Despite the fact that they were both still standing on the table, people were starting to turn their attention back to their drinks and resuming their previous conversations.

“Whoever keeps the attention of the most patrons of this hall for the longest.” Helga said, climbing down from the table. “And if that is not clear then the majority of..." She trailed off as she scanned the patrons at the front of the hall. "These three gentleman." She indicated three young men who had been watching them avidly since the Devil had climbed on the table. The Devil sent its senses out toward the men and found them fascinated, but to its surprise, neutral. They thought both Helga and the Devil beautiful, were from out of town, and felt that if Helga was not the better player then she was getting what she deserved for her pride.

The Devil nodded its acquiescence to those terms, not that it would have disagreed even had the men been strongly biased toward Helga. Its confidence in its abilities was based on more than pride. They both climbed to the stage and Helga stepped to the front indicating that she wanted to play first. The Devil nodded and stepped back, setting its accordion at its feet. Helga was surprisingly fair, but not above taking what she perceived as slight advantages.

Settling her accordion on her shoulders, Helga began to play. She started with a loud blat of her keys which had people jerking their heads towards the stage to see what was going on. She then began a lively dance tune that had most of the hall clapping and stamping their feet. From there she transitioned into a traditional ballad to which folks gustily sang along. When she began a slow air after that, the Devil knew it had won. The attention of the hall slowly drifted back to their drinks and their companions. Helga tried another dance tune in an attempt to re-engage her audience, but their attention was now firmly elsewhere.

Finishing the tune, Helga stepped back and gestured the Devil to the front of the stage. The Devil picked up its accordion and stepped forward. It would not need to change mens’ souls tonight, simply tickle and tantalize around the edges. It started with a scattering of soft notes, something to wend its way slowly into the attention of the drinkers. Slowly the hall fell quiet as the melody caught in men’s minds and drew them from their beers. The Devil drew the melody out, building and letting it fall until it reached its final peak. As the last note faded in the silent hall the Devil waited, and just before the audience decided it was finished, started up a driving dance tune. It caught the melancholy from the previous tune and lifted it, and soon several men were dancing on the tables. That was followed by another dance tune, then a ballad, and finally a slow air. Only then, when it had clearly won the competition, did the Devil close its accordion and step back with a slight bow. Slowly, the noise in the hall picked back up. 

Helga was waiting at the bottom of the stairs to the stage, accordion at her feet. As the Devil came down the stairs, she bowed.

...

The first time the Devil decided letting the musician win and keep the prize would would be more lucrative than taking the musician's soul was in Marietta, Georgia in 1932. It was the great depression, the Devil could sneeze and create mass desperation. It was quite profitable, but really, too easy. The Devil preferred a bit of challenge in acquiring souls every now and then.

The Devil happened upon Johnny in a crossroads. It stood back for a while, listening. The boy was truly talented, but there was an edge of darkness to him. The Devil reached out and looked around the area, feeling the desperation creeping in from all across the small town. With careful calculation the Devil stepped into the crossroads and jumped dramatically onto the stump next to Johnny. 

“Boy, let me tell you what. I guess you didn’t know it, but I’m a fiddle player too.” The Devil internally rolled its eyes. Playing to the ego of a boy such as this was too easy. “If you’d care to take a dare I’ll make a bet with you. You play pretty good fiddle, but give the Devil its due. I’ll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul ‘cause I think I’m better than you.” It knew it was better than this boy, barely past puberty, but inflating this boy’s ego would have souls coming to the Devil for decades to come. 

As It had hoped, Johnny swelled with pride and accepted its challenged. As with most of the people with whom It made deals, Johnny did not seem to notice the puff of red smoke or the smell of sulfur as they shook hands. He pulled out his rosin and rosined his bow, then checked the tuning on his fiddle. Shooting the Devil a cocky smile, Johnny placed the bow on his strings and started on a local tune, one the Devil knew was considered the most difficult in the local repertoire. He played it well, with extra flourishes in all the right places. When he finished he gave the Devil an elaborate bow. 

The Devil pulled its fiddle from its pocket and considered what it would play. After a moment it chose a tune it had learned in a town two hundred miles to the north. It was a difficult tune, though not quite so difficult as the one Johnny had played. Deliberately the Devil introduced slight errors. A roll with a missed note. A cut not quite on time. With each error, Johnny smirked a little more. 

When it finished, the Devil put away its fiddle and pulled out the golden fiddle and laid it on the ground. Johnny sauntered over and picked it up, staggering briefly under the weight. As he walked away he called over his shoulder, “Devil, just come on back, if you ever wanna try again. I told you once, you son of a bitch, I’m the best that’s ever been.” The Devil watched him go, feeling the tendrils of chaos and destruction extending out from him and into the future like an oil slick.

**Author's Note:**

> The Budai Nagy Antal revolt, according to Wikipedia, occurred in 1437 in Transylvania and was the only significant popular revolt in the Kingdom of Hungary prior to the great peasant war of 1514.
> 
> Free reed instruments (of which the accordion is a member), were initially developed in Europe in the the early to mid 1800s. Helga comes from this version of the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s3NwTMq8dqo


End file.
